Shoe Box Memories
by JackiLeigh
Summary: This fic is inspired by my questions about Neal's mom. Some is AU.


SHOE BOX MEMORIES

**AN: I have always wondered, especially since Neal's dad came into the picture in Season 4, what Neal thought of his mother. Had his thoughts changed? I got the impression from the very few times that he had mentioned her, he wanted nothing to do with her. And now with the Season 4 finale, I wonder even more.**

**I wonder:**

**Would Neal have been better off if Ellen had not told him the truth and let him believe that his father was dead?**

**Is Neal still angry with his mother? **

**Did Neal's mother 'really' know what his dad did, that he had killed a man?**

**Was Neal's mom trying to spare him pain?**

**What does Neal think about his mom now that he knows the unpleasant truth about his dad?**

**Does Neal now believe his mom was just trying to spare him?**

**And since Neal kept his mother's maiden name, Caffrey, does that mean he still wants a connection to her?**

**Or is the name, itself, the only connection Neal wants?**

**And Last But Not Least:**

**Could/Would Neal forgive his mother?**

**This story was inspired by all these questions. Enjoy!**

**My beta is still stuck out there in Cyberspace with her computer issues. I hope she gets things straightened out soon. All mistakes, as always, are mine. **

He had pulled the old box out from time to time over the years. And it hadn't always been a box. Sometimes it had been a plastic bag. Sometimes it was just whatever was handy. Whatever he could shove everything into. Whatever would hold his memories.

Right now, since he had been at June's, actually, his memories had found themselves a home in the former home of his favorite Italian leather loafers. Now he found himself looking at these things again. But why right now? Why think about his past, especially this past, when his future was so uncertain, when Peter's and El's futures could be changed forever and not in a good way?

Neal sighed. He knew what was drawing him to this box. He knew full well. He had questions. His mind was swirling with them at the moment. He pulled out the pictures. He reread the letters he already knew by heart. And he wondered…had she known? Had she known what James Bennett had done? Had she known the type of man he was? Had she tried to save him from the pain of that reality by telling him his father was dead?

Neal had, in his young mind, secretly laid the blame on his mother. She had never been terribly maternal, anyway. He just figured if she was a bad mother, she was probably a bad wife too. As he got older, though, he began to understand what his mother had really meant when she had told him his father was gone. He had not ran away from the family. This 'gone' was permanent. The ultimate permanent, he would never come back. Neal would never see his father again.

And he had learned, slowly, to accept it. Not to say it didn't hurt. He hated, with a passion, Father's Day. His heart ached when he saw a father and son together, anywhere. But to see a father and son playing ball in the park nearly tore his heart out. He ached to be able to do that with somebody. He yearned to have that connection. He had memories of his father, but they were episodic things, like random scenes from a movie. They were jumbled up and little confusing if he tried to link them together in any way.

He looked at the pictures of himself with his mother, with Ellen. He thought he had lost the picture with Ellen, actually. He reached back into the box and pulled out a letter. It was the letter his mom had written him after he had left home. Right after ellen had told him the truth. Ellen had given it to him after all these years, after they had reconnected. Neal had promised Ellen he would read it. But, before he knew it, Ellen was gone, and he still had not read the letter.

Neal sighed and then broke the seal on the envelope. He slowly unfolded the pages and began to read:

_October 11, 1996_

_My Son,_

_I knew the day would come. I just wished it hadn't had to. You had to know the truth, Son. When you first started talking about going to the academy, Ellen and I had hoped it was just a phase you were going through. But then you started learning to shot. You started lifting weights and running. We knew you were serious then._

_I know you must hate me, and that's okay. I wanted you to grow up with good memories of your father. I wanted you to not carry around that type of burden. It was too much for a 3-year-old to bear. It's too much for an 18-year-old to bear. You deserved better, from the both of us. Let's face it, Son. I could have been a much better mother to you. I have to thank Ellen, so much, for being willing and able to take on that role. _

_I want you to know the whole story. When I first met your father, he was still in the academy. I worked at one of the diners he and the other cadets frequented. He was handsome, and such a charmer. I was a student nurse, working my way through school. And what can I say; I fell hard for a handsome face._

_Your dad didn't start out to be a bad cop. He was eager to do a good job, to uphold the law. But I guess, I don't know what it was, Son. Maybe going from being a single man, to being a married man, then to being a father so quickly, maybe it changed him. He needed the money. It was all about having money, it seemed. We never have enough. I thought we were doing well, but he didn't._

_I used to ask him about all this money he made. He would just tell me he was getting bonuses and promotions. I never believed it. He was a rookie, Son. People just don't move up that fast, it takes years to make those leaps. I knew he was lying, but I never told him that. I never pursued it. I guess I believed ignorance was bliss. But I got blind-sided by that ignorance when we had to leave our lives and go into witness protection. _

_It was hard on you, I know. No child should ever, ever, ever have to worry about his 'cover' being blown. And I know you did. I would hear you, 'rehearsing' in your bedroom at night. I heard you going over 'the story' over and over again, until it sounded natural, until it sounded like your very own. I hated that. I hated the fact you never got to meet your family. You never got to know your grandparents, your aunts, uncles, cousins. I hated it, and I hated your father, a lot, for making us live that way._

_That was the cause of the drinking, I believe. I hated to see my son growing up thinking that changing identities and locations every few years was normal. In the beginning you treated it as a game. And that helped, it helped me deal with the guilt of uprooting you and taking you away from everything, everyone you knew. And I think it helped you to understand what your life had become. But it wasn't real, and as you got older, it was harder to pretend. It was harder to pretend it was fun. It was harder to not see the look of distaste, disdain in your eyes for what all that life was._

_Neither James nor Ellen knew that I knew your father had killed a man. Well, that is to say, I knew it a few days after it happened. It took Ellen years to tell me, but James never did. I never told Ellen that I already knew. I knew now, that it was absolutely true. I don't think I could have lived with the guilt. When I asked him about it, about the real reason we were in witness protection, your dad always told me that he couldn't say. He could't say because it would have put my life, and your's, in danger. That was his excuse for not telling me things in the days before he left us. _

_When Ellen told me, years later, about James killing the cop. She said that she needed to tell someone, she had been carrying the secret around too long. She showed me the report she had written. She told me James might want it someday. She told me she was going to hide it somewhere, and that she was going to give you the key. I assume she did._

_If you ever do read this letter, Son, I want you to know I didn't lie to you to hurt you. I thought you, most likely, would never see your father again. Since he didn't enter the program with us, I had no idea where he was. I have no idea if he is still alive. And I knew any contact between the two of you would be impossible. So, I made a decision, a boy needs his father. And he needs a father he can be proud of._

_I just hope, someday, one day, you will forgive me. _

_I love you,_

_Alicia Caffrey-Bennett_

Neal sat on his bed, just staring at the words he had just read. He…he didn't know what to think. He understood things a lot better now. But the one person he could talk to about this, the one person he should talk to about this had a lot bigger worries.

Neal refolded the letter and inserted it back into the envelope. He said it on top of all the other items in the box. He then took the box and put it back on the shelf in his walk-in closet. He wiped the tears he didn't know he had been crying. He desperately wanted to see his mother, if for no other reason than to apologize.

But first, Peter Burke needed his help. His father was not going to get away with murder.

THE END


End file.
